Nightingale (40 page)

"He'll be done in a moment," Klara said, smiling up at them. "It's times like this that I'm glad we aren't in Vienna anymore."

"Yes. I don't know if Prince Josef would wait while some young fellow had his dinner."

"No one is waiting, Frau Almassy. They are still coming in." The maid servant spoke evenly. "And the audience is enjoying the basket dance."

"Good
," Klara sighed. Her husband rested his hand upon her white shoulder. Only three fingers were left upon it, the left hand which he raised to guard himself, so his days as a musician were finished. The long scar that ran from beneath his amber eye almost to the corner of his mouth grew livid as he bent down.

They had been through a great deal, almost a lifetime of experience. Akos had had a slow recovery from loss of blood and then an almost fatal catarrh, which had fastened upon his weakness. Together they had mourned the loss of his hand, but, as he’d said, to have Klara safe with him was not too great a price. Klara had nursed him and feared for him; at the same time, she also suffered what she thought were less than worthy fears for herself. It was the first time in years that her life had not centered round her theatrical life. Deep in her heart, just as Manzoli had warned, there sometimes lurked a dreadful emptiness.

She sang for Vehnsky at gatherings of his nobles, and although they were as appreciative as any gathering could be, she sometimes dreamed of the great Vienna opera house, of the throngs who had prostrated themselves at her feet. Sometimes, she even saw herself in another cage, a far smaller and inferior one, at that.

Pregnancy, too, had been difficult. She didn't do it well and was often sick, tired and aching. Towards the end she would take one look in the mirror and weep. She had been a goddess
in Vienna, now she was confined by her body, reduced to nothing more special than a breeding woman, all her time and strength taken up with what any tough peasant woman could do with far more grace.

She was confined by circumstances as well. There had been more than one aftermath of the duel, for Akos had killed one of the high nobility. Prince Josef exiled them from the Oesterreich, but left punishment in the hands of Vehnsky. The Prince had examined all present, even Oettingen's servants, but in the end he'd judged that the duel had been forced upon Akos, that he'd had no choice but to defend his honor and the honor of his wife, and that the participants had adhered strictly to the Code Duello. He did nothing in the way of punishment. As a matter of fact, Akos now stood higher in the old man's favor than before.

Even some of his cousins, hitherto scornful, found it in their hearts to treat him better. This was especially true of the military men, for Count Oettingen had had a wide renown as a duelist and the kind of officer who relished combat and who did not hide behind his soldiers. To have killed such a man had clearly taken some metal.

By far the most important gentleman to have a change of heart was the Prince's eldest son and heir, Count Bela. This
warlike member of the family had fought the Turks hand to. He was also pious. Although, he had been married young and to a suitable member of the aristocracy, his had been a happy match. He had been as deeply offended as anyone by his runaway half-sister, but even in that case he had been often heard to remark that "at least there was the decency of marriage".

In his eyes, Almassy might be a half-breed, common clay mixed with the pure fire of aristocracy, but he was legitimate. The fact that Akos been willing to risk his life for Klara and that she had chosen a difficult marriage instead of an easy life of sin carried weight with Bela.

Sometimes, when Klara’s black moods led her to feel sorrier for herself than for her husband, she would retreat to find solace in the beauty of the gardens. Until this year she had always considered sitting beneath trees, watching the birds, a thing only rich spoiled women did. Now, perennially exhausted, her husband in and out of fevers and quite as depressed by his injuries as she was by breeding, with no performance to prepare, this seemed as good a way to spend time as anything.

"You need a task to engage you." Prince Vehnsky had issued the order. Klara had curtsied and then stared at him in shock, hands clasped in front of her ever growing burden.

"You will study Czech and Hungarian every morning with Madame Pachta in the library."

Klara opened her mouth, then shut it, and curtsied low again. In his demeanor, she saw all the signs of a prince in a despotic mood.

"It is fitting that you should learn, Frau Almassay, seeing that now you will be spending your life among us."

At first it seemed a dreadful sentence. Although she had French and Italian, she couldn't imagine anything much worse than banging her head against the mystery of these backwater languages, far inferior, she had always been taught, to her native and all conquering German.

Now, able to scramble along in both, she'd found it more than helpful after coming to Prague. At home at Komarom, it gave her not only more potential friends but the very important ability to talk to the servants. In fact, she was now grateful to the Prince for his order. He had, after all, diagnosed her trouble perfectly. Work, hard work, such as she was used to, had been the best way to keep her spirits in order.

Her son, named Bela for their new patron, the young Count, sat up and burped loudly. Almassy laughed and Klara joined him as she lifted the sturdy child up to her servant. On the stage, the puppet dance was ending, and in a few minutes, she must ready. Ilka, the maid, lifted Baby Bela inside his long white shift and laid him on a cloth over her shoulder. It was not a second too soon, for when he burped again, creamy liquid poured from his mouth, spilling over her shoulder and down onto the floor with a sour splat.

“Oh baby, baby!” the woman cried out, spinning away from the mess. “Ah, mistress! Just in the nick of time!”

“I’m truly sorry for you, Ilka, but thank goodness you took him before he ruined my dress!”

“Messy little creatures,” her husband said. “It’s fortunate for them they are so beautiful.” His pale cheek carried that long scar that even his grandfather’s careful stitching had been unable to prevent. He laughed, and Klara joined in as he pulled a funny face to amuse his son.

They watched as Ilka, stepping carefully around the backstage ropes, carried the baby away. He was babbling loudly, his legs thumping against her full body, now struggling to get down. Klara watched their retreat and then stood up, holding her skirts carefully away from the milky puddle. Surely, she thought, their little boy would be an adventurer! Now that he was fed, even here, in this bustle of activity with strangers everywhere, Bela was on fire to escape and go hands-and-knees exploring.

A stagehand with a rag arrived to take care of the mess. Moving aside, Akos took Klara’s hand and squeezed it tenderly. She was too heavily powdered for him to risk leaving a blue kiss mark on her cheek. They shared a smile before he turned away. It was time for him to take his place among the audience. She knew how sad he felt that he could no longer play for her.

Klara heaved a sigh as she watched him go. Her handsome husband was still so very thin!

Then, firmly putting all of that away, she moved to the curtains. Peering through the gap, she took in the scene in the house. The seats were full of people, white wigs, low cut gowns and fluttering fans. Above the heads of the audience, chandeliers sent down their soft light. Before her eyes, the dancers onstage struck farewell poses, bowing, laughing and waving the big rag puppet hands at the audience.

Prague had a lovely theater, not too large, but beautifully decorated. The aristocrats and local gentry were always appreciative, and she’d discovered they truly loved good music. A big name did not necessarily bring applause here, but a truly beautiful voice or a stunning composition
– no matter how new – always did. The people genuinely loved opera here, in a way she hadn’t always witnessed in fashion conscious Vienna.

Soon, the curtain would come down again, the painted scenery drop behind her would fall, and Klara would go to her mark in the center of the stage and wait for the overture. When that was done, the red curtain would rise once more and it would be time for her to begin her evening’s work. Preparing, she closed her eyes and drew several deep calming breaths, throwing her shoulders back, lifting her head. In a few minutes, she’d become someone else, a fugitive princess lost upon a desert island, waiting for the bravest of princes to arrive and rescue her, to whisk her away to his Castle-of-Happily-Ever-After, all in three acts.

In a way, it was true. Her husband now wore the long gown of physician full time. He continued to study the art but he practiced it, too. His reputation grew daily. Klara smiled thinking about that. She could still sing to him and fill his dark eyes with delight. Things had changed, but she was with the man she loved with all her heart, and she was free.

Focusing on her first aria, on the strength of her voice and her body, she readied herself to change, to become something more seductive, more fabulous than the daily roles she now played as mother and wife. Although it was a smaller stage and the audience less prestigious, when she stepped on stage, she would once more be exactly what she had been in Vienna
–
a glorious nightingale
.

The End

About the Author

Not all who wander are lost.
Juliet Waldron earned a B. A. in English, but has worked at jobs ranging from artist’s model to brokerage. Twenty years ago, after raising her children, she dropped out of 9-5 and began to researching her way into the past.
Mozart’s Wife
won the 1
st
Independent e-Book Award. The companion book,
My Mozart
tells the story of one of the composer’s young lovers.
Genesee
won the Epic Award for Best Historical; the companion novel,
Angel’s Flight
, is also set in the storied Hudson valley. A romantic historical adverture,
Red Magic
, is the first in a series.

Learn more about Juliet’s books at
http://www.julietwaldron.com

Also Published by Books We Love

Genesee

Mozart’s Wife

My Mozart

Red Magic

Angel’s Flight

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